strangest things happen--i was looking through some old stuff and this comes up--i swear to god never before saw it on my computer--possibly written by me after seeing that tolstoy movie--it's a little hasty and drastic in its conclusions--but i thought i should put it up here--in a way of seeing one's own development:
Friday, September 03, 2010 10:31:14 PM
Sometimes the best thing to do is to let go. Love in itself is tiring and restless. It requires working too much for a cause that is immune to any work. For that love is like paddling in mud. You can try all you want, and the only movement you will make will be sinking deeper.
Still, every story is a story of love.
“I know everything I know,” writes Tolstoy, “because I love.” He writes beautifully. But just like the love he so believes in, his words are vague and elusive. For example, what does he know? How does he know it? What does he love, and more importantly, (since we all love something) how does he love? Was it not him who left his wife on an impulse and ran from her on a voyage that brought him his death?
You should never listen to great writers. They are just as indescribable and fickle as love itself.
strange happenings.
edit-- yes i do just remember--it was supposed to be a story at some point. but i guess i forgot all about it. it was supposed to be a male leading character too. that's all i remember.
just heard that suze rotolo passed away. i was not expecting that at all (app. she had been battling cancer for some time--i didn't know) and it really got to me. i don't have much to say right now, but i think muses like her--they don't go down below to the fiery pits (if the pits ever existed). rest in peace, gentle suze, with all the wonderful words you have inspired, following you in trails of prayers now.
the story which i had promised earlier-- van gogh falls in love with a woman who cares not for him so dearly. he goes to her house in hopes of seeing her but she refuses to come down. he holds his hand over a burning candle, letting the flame burn him to unconsciousness.
he then writes to his sister:
"I shall love her so long That in the end she’ll love me too"
you can be van gogh for all love cares--the woman never returns his affections, and van gogh dies unloved by her.
that i thought portrays a picture coupled with all that 'total need' talk of burroughs. been munching on naked lunch and it is way more than i had expected. school's tomorrow and yet another week unfolds.
"The face of 'evil' is always the face of total need."
W.S.B.
so finally made my hot beverage put my blind willie mctells in the back and am ready to roll.
it's been the weirdest week--and i am so happy that i finally got the chance to pull back and chill out for a few hours--you know soft playing music, that cinnamon plum tea, crazy cold and stormy weather outside... it feels just wonderful to be inside and at peace on days like this.
school started off a bit shitty this year but who knows maybe it'll come around. looks like my day off's will be wednesdays this semester but i do have to say school on a friday rules--there's nobody around. it feels very haunted and deserted and all. it's been good to catch up with some of the old friends though i kinda roll solo this year--different electives and schedules and the whole american studies certificate thing had been pulling me all around.
let me talk a bit about last monday first--me faithfully believing that my ticket for the festival was for tuesday--which really was for monday--thankfully my dear friend warned me early enough in the day so that i didn't miss my burroughs fix. it was a wonderful day too--because it was so unplanned and unexpected--we first had coffee with the whole staff of girlfriends--then walked down to this little wodnerful burger place and had a delicious meal. then some cake and more coffee, finally we split, me and my dear friend and a dear friend of his--we all strolled in and took our places and watched in silence what the screen revealed in frames.
the documentary itself wasn't exactly a hot shot--it was a little too loose and too confused for my taste. it had these funny animation sequences in the middle and there were a huge variety of subjects--from burroughs childhood to his connection to punk rock to his obsession over guns. the timing and the tying wasn't that great though. still--the subject was so interesting that you could not have spoiled it for me by even the graviest mistakes.
i knew burroughs by name and as i've said i had attempted to read him once--but my connection to him had never been anything similar to that of mine to ginsberg or to kerouac. i do remember specifically though a ginsberg poem in which he was talking about burroughs' wife. it was one of the most tragic things i've ever read--and that was before i even knew what had happened to her. the documentary talks about the real tragedy behind her name--on a drunken high night in between all that crazy talk at some point burroughs tells her to put a bottle on her head so he can show everyone what a good shot he is. she complies and tells him to aim well--for she "can not stand the sight of blood". burroughs pulls the trigger and kills his wife.
it was half way in that they talked about that incident and it unsettled me so dearly that i kinda watched everything else through that lense. burroughs' has always been unsettling though--even in the pics he is with ginsberg and the rest he is different and distant. he is a genius, no question there. the words and the worldviews and his honest denial of any labelling (even the gay rights movement that he pretty much inspired) is incredible. and when that is coupled with his endless eccentricity and a constant lack of any warmth and sweetness--perhaps even a lack of humanity--he is one of those truely original spirits. the doc talks about his unwillingess and almost incapability of forming meaningful relationships with human beings. it shows a series of over-aged and under aged lovers that they used to entertain around while they were in their high and mighty days--especially one man whose name slips my mind right now--and the overly simple and liberated state of their affairs.
patti smith was in it too--man that lady is amazing--she talks about how she used to daydream about burroughs and her getting married and all. which is something you would never think you'd hear of the glorious smith.
there is warhol in it somewhere and some very precious table talks they had. and most preciously ginsberg is in it--from old time war stories to recent interviews they had together where they talk about all sorts of things from the beat movement to how they had learnt about sex--and his humanity and warmth so unlike burroughs just fills up the whole room. on our way back i told my friends how he was also in lennonyc and everywhere he is you see these wonderful angelic eyes and this extreme openness and almost a settled softness. even his voice just sooths you. and that humanness grounds his image i think--unlike burroughs--his craziness and over-ness comes with just enough belief in his humanity--which keeps his image real and possible in one's eyes.
the end of the documentary does the same to burroughs--last journal entry of burroughs tells everyone that "love? what is it? most natural pain killer" which catches you off guard--for not once you hear the word 'love' mentioned in his series of words and images. when that comes up at the end you assume that he has in fact known it all his life but chose not to dwell on it--or to conceal it--or to ignore it--but admitting that brings a sense of humanity to him that he himself perhaps may not have been willing to accept--hence making them his final words. afterwards there was no confrontation for him no questioning of what 'love' is and no heartfelt conversations about digging for gold within the writing man.
so on thursday i think it was i went over to the library and picked up naked lunch--it's a 1966 print which claims to be the first paperback edition of the novel--it is so old and torn and worn out that i think it's just so suitable to the whole thing. it smells a little funny though, i'll give you that.
i was to talk about other stuff but i think i should cut it off--i think we all need some time to digest our burroughs. the whole 'total need' remark reminds me of a van gogh story that i just learnt last night--which i'll tell you later on.
sorry i haven't been able to keep up with the pace of the days of this week--but the week ends tomorrow and i hope i'll have some time then to jot down a few things. school's been dreadful over the last week trying to work schedules and pick out courses and i've been miserable--lotsa headaches knee pain (been walking like a maniac all over the school) and even some emotional handicaps. even today started off pretty mean and dreary but later on my way back i passed by one of those gypsy flower ladies and saw that she had beautiful yellowy tullips and i turned back half way down the road ran up and bought arms full of tullips--they were kinda like buds though not yet opening up the way they tune down in the late hours of the day--but then on the bus for half an hour or so with the heat and the lights they got confused and opened up beautifully filling the worn out metorpolian wonder that is the bus with wonderful fresh flower smell. mother also loved them. we placed them in the middle of the house where everyone can admire their beauty.
i know that yet i haven't talked about the burroughs document--and the lovely day i had last monday--but i'll get around to it hopefully this weekend. picked up naked lunch from the library--i think i have done it once before (that or junkie i can't remember exactly)but something had happened (which again i can't remember)and i had it dropped it. so hopefully by the next time i post i have even more stuff to tell you about.
re-admired sad eyed lady of the lowlands today. one of the best lovesongs i've ever heard. most poetic wonderful wounded clear crazy tune--and dylan sounds--you know what, i'll get back to that too.
up to my neck in restless trouble. i wanted to talk about the crazy burroughs doc of the previous night along with tons of other lovely stuff but think i'll leave all that to tomorrow, thursday maybe. who knows.
"Every man has inside himself a parasitic being who is acting not at all to his advantage."
ah don't think i've forgotten about you. just strolled in back home running on one of my 48 hour straigt days. have good things to talk about, and hopefully by the time i've rested and back on my feet (which hurt badly, by the way) the bad stuff will just seem far less insignificant.
sorry it took me forever to pull my act together--went out at dusk yesterday came back at dusk today. it's been a long day or two, so i had to eat, pull my head together, get a shower, and make something warm for myself.
i'll cut everything short and jump right into it--lennonyc obviously. been on that trip since last night, have 'me' limited solo john's on my playlist--all ready to roll about the documentary that i saw (and dragged my two dearests with me as well)over the movie festival here in paradise city.
it was a weird one to watch, it talks about john's last decade or so, from december 71 if i remember it correctly. it's just after the dylan induced 60s have dusted out (at one point Yoko mentions--upon learning that nixon had won yet again the crew puts on a 'dylan record' to diffuse the bluesy mood). historically it was wonderful to see what had actually followed the magical sixties--you kinda jump directly to the end of the vietnam war in general narrations, skipping a few years ahead from closing it up with woodstock in 69 and then picking it up with the end of the war--or to blood on the tracks which was released some time around then. to me 71 is also the year that jim passed away, so it carries a finality in its own, and the spirit dies with him. but in lennonyc you get to see the post-60s era, you see john and yoko settle in to the post-dylan post-beatle scene, yet some of the big guns still linger around--like warhol and ginsberg (oh the angelic ginsberg)--so you form a linear understanding of the whole thing. you see the village moving out of its folk-beat craziness to a failed flower-power then to somewhat of a medium.
but those are obviously a bunch of details that possibly amused me and only me in the whole theater.other than that it's possibly the most yoko-based documentary i've ever seen in my life. it comes to a point where it kind bugs you. now i'll be very honest--you learn of john lennon two ways when you're a kid: 1)he was a former beatle--a super human group 2) he married--let's not sugarcoat it--one wacky looking lady. overtime i personally made peace with her, even though secretly i thought that she was kinda responsible for the whole thing to burn up in flames--but i always thought of her as the other-half of john, and even pitied her a bit for suffering the years and years of abuse that she had suffered, not to mention becoming a blind spot of history for anything that she existed for without john. while the movie does a decent job in breaking the devil-yoko cycle, it feeds off a little too much of her input.
i honestly think it's more about john and yoko than it is about john, or new york, or both. you kinda understand why though--the two were so tightly knitted that i think at some point they didn't have a life seperate of one another. therefore any story you begin to tell about john, you end up talking about yoko. still, you feel like john isn't as vivid as he should be on that screen. you feel like the yoko factor drowns him out a bit.
the music is lightly touched upon. since the songwriter is out of reach, that could also be understandable, but it also affects the john-ness of the whole piece.
but john--john at times comes through. especially his wicked sense of humor, the gentleness in his physical appearance but more so, actually the most, possibly, the humanity in his voice. the softness of his tone while he cracks jokes about him never getting his sashimi unless you tell the place that its for yoko, or the reels of meaningless studio talk--those are what gets to you the most. what got to me the most at least. the death is not talked about in depth (the way it was put on was just flawed). but anytime they would play back any of the studio chattering i got teary (ok a bit more than teary, sue me).
i don't feel through john that often, not the way i do to dylan through his songs. i've always felt a bit more estranged to him than anyone else. i had read some time back julian's account of john's absence and a failed father is a failed person to me--for if you do not love a child than i don't know if you are capable of loving--so i had always thought a bit more downside about john. the documentary talks a lot about sean and John's devotion to him, which outright bothered me. not that i know anything about what happened between anyone in the story, but i felt, i don't know, like the whole thing wasn't sincere.
they talk about one particular night on which john was drunk, and they were trying to shove him into the back of the car, and he was yelling out yoko's name. one guy says that he always cried out for yoko when he was drunk. that is the strongest image that got stuck with me of the whole thing. that is the john i preferred to take with me of last night, and i think that's the john that will stick around with me for a little more.
some time ago i had told a friend that john was troubling to me for "he seemed very selfish and loveless but at the same time beautifully naive about love and peace and the world" and he told me he could have been both, at the same time. that i do not know. but i do know this== "imagine there's no heaven/it's easy if you try/ no hell below us/ above us only sky" are the most courageous beautiful pound-worthy words i've ever heard in my life.
here's my favorite john (the song, that is)--
ps: there was one particular story that i have to tell--back when john and yoko were separated for a little while in the early seventies--yoko walks into a vintage store and sees this silk men's pajamas and she buys them deciding that whomever they fit perfectly will be the one for her. years pass and john strolls back in ny and they get back together and john puts on the pajamas--and bam--perfect match. that's the most poetic soul-mate story i've ever heard in my life.
overall a tasteless day or two. hoping lennonyc would change that tonight. possibly because the school's around the corner, it all gets a little tricky.
nothing like an unfinished story to clog up your whole system. for one i can not seem to find a proper ending, for another a now-enthusiastic-but-soon-will-be-weary ghost trails my thoughts, trying to find a place to fit himself.
out and about tomorrow, then lennonyc on saturday. then last day of vacation and monday, school. oh well...
was having a blast today trying to pose my best and go through chords of somewhere only we know--by going through i mean going through one by one not even hitting the string on the way--i am no jimmy page people--anywho i dropped my pick into that hole in the middle. 3 seconds passed and i began to laugh my lungs out. felt like it was the funniest thing that happened to me in ages.
anwyho--arsenal won--not that i have anything against barcelona, it's just that arshavin has that russian loveliness to him.
i came up to this lovely song (a lovely version i should say) and it reminded me of the stories i left unfinished. i considered for a second to use it as a muse to wrap up--then i realized you can't do that. you have to ride out songs in themselves-their beauty and their misery-and you should just ride out the waves smoothly leaving them in charge. then they are beautiful. you shouldn't force songs into feelings or feelings into songs.
i'm feeling a little upset right now so i'll put stuff down on here--maybe it'll help me cool off.
anyways--talking about the good things--yesterday was kinda great, course selections weren't as badass as usual, we had a lovely lunch of noodles+sushi with 2 of my closest (the girl with curls and my dear comrade in name) then went over to get some family stuff done. but what was the loveliest was coming across a 9 TL Ulyssess in a wonderful bookstore. with all the great things ezra puts in about that book i was starting to feel like i betrayed some higher notion by not finishing it up in time--i even thought it really wasn't about it being a library book or not--maybe i said to myself maybe i just lost my appettite. but thankfully that turned out to be wrong, i've been carrying it around all day, haven't yet started to read it again but i'm all butterflies inside. when i do get around to it hopefully it'll be the right place right time for us.
remember how i said i'd lock myself up this week? well that fell apart. again been out and about for the past few days--i still feel tired and beat. but until friday i'm trying very hard to not plan anything--which gives me about 2 days to enjoy on my own--and possibly to try and conquer the nasty cold i've been battling with for the past 2 days.
i did get a chance to see the entire grammy show. dylan was dylan, you know, but i think it was worth anything to watch the guys behind him--mumford&sons and the avett brother i think the names were--man, were they having the time of their lives. their energy and love and joy literally lit up the whole stage, made bob shine as well. and bob was in the zone, doing tiny hand movements and smiles--and even the heavenly harmonica came out at the end. mick was just a thunder, he came, he conquered, he went. it's like years don't even touch the surface with him. he can still perform well--too well, actually. and his starbright sexiness just fills up the room immediately. anywho it was a blast to watch him perform.
i also realized that i actually did listen to good stuff--and listened well--all through this little holiday season. i really did you know--some i had on my mind (simon&garfunkel, blind willie mctell) some just appeared on their own. i couldn't read a whole lot, but you know. you try.
anywho i am extremely tired and a little frustrated, i'll leave it off of at that. i'll get back soon. posibbly tomorrow. cheers.
tomorrow will be a long (+early, very, very early) day. the grammy's tonight--but i'll possibly be missing them since i have to get up real early tomorrow--but think i'll be drowning in youtube clips the next day.
summery sunday feel. had a craving for this song since breakfast.
THAT crazed girl improvising her music. Her poetry, dancing upon the shore,
Her soul in division from itself Climbing, falling She knew not where, Hiding amid the cargo of a steamship, Her knee-cap broken, that girl I declare A beautiful lofty thing, or a thing Heroically lost, heroically found.
No matter what disaster occurred She stood in desperate music wound, Wound, wound, and she made in her triumph Where the bales and the baskets lay No common intelligible sound But sang, 'O sea-starved, hungry sea.'
"Who says the river can't leave its waters? Who says you walk in a line? Who says the city change its borders? Who says you're mine?"
so i wasn't planning to post at all today but something funny happened. mother invited over one of our neighbors to do a little fortune telling for me by the coffee cup. i'm putting these down mainly because i thought they were kinda cute--but also so i can keep track on whether or not they come true.
first off it was a wonderful day--for the first time in ages i had nothing planned (except some tasteless window shopping for courses--which are not going well by the way) so i just laid low and got some rest. then by the afternoon mom went over to the next door neighbor and brought back her daughter--the whole fam is notorious for their psychic intell.
anywho she started by saying that i get frustrated periodically--in the most ordinary moments i would stop and step back and either worry or complain about something that hasn't happened--which is so true that it's not even funny. but she said that all the troubles would soon be of the past (as they always are in coffee residues) and that i had a giant fish right in front of my face--fish is great fortune by the way--and she said there was a trail of papers lots and lots of papers. she also saw a man's shoe and a near-by voyage. she also saw two guys and in detail explained them to me. oh and then she saw me in a white dress and a golden belt.
anyways after saying all these wonderful things she ended by saying that i should learn how to wait. she said stuff that i want will happen but i have to wait for it. time and patience and letting it play down for a while. the only goddamn thing i can not do in this world is to wait but you know, it was actually sadly very superstitiously it made me feel good to listen to her. it was fun, you know, you simply very childishly but at the same time very wearily wish and hope that there is actually a way to look into the future.
anyways--i'll take my leave now--oh and there was a turtle. app i put my hopes and fears on the turtle and she said even though it moves super super slow it is a very ambitious turtle. it reaches its neck out and all that. and she said that my stuff looked intact on top of it. so we'll see.
argh, these course preparations are kicking my ass as usual. looks like i have to drop russian (for sure this time, i know, i know, who am i to chase dreams through these wonderfully planned academic futures) and still so much is left hanging in the air that it's tough.
yet another day ended while i strutted down on the streets. turns out my tudoring did the timing for me--after a long breakfast this morning i got an unexpected email and whole thing came down pretty easily. i am tired and beat as usual, but i'm kinda glad that i got the chance to do what i did today.
one thing i can tell you--i know this town. i may not know the names of the streets or the proper routes to take while driving--but i've been to practically every kinda hole this city can possibly offer. my way to and fro from anywhere usually goes through many levels of settlements. i go through the most posh spots--through humble homes as well. i have countless images and alleyways and human portraits in the memory of my eyes. stepping outside the door is enough reason for an adventure--i travel the world a hundred times every day.
today i did something that i thought i was terrible at--found a place by the direction i had been given (though i do have to stay the directions were simply perfect). i got to get on vehicles unknown and get friendly with old ladies who were as lost as i was on the way. i even got to do a little night walking by the seaside with a beautiful view of the bridge--and of the whole city as the bus climbed up the winding roads.
some of the scenery was familiar and made me think of other stories--some were foreign. i decided on my way back--again--that since i've been loving you is the greatest song to ever exist.
to be very honest i was going to talk about my dear friend's travels abroad--he told me stories that for the first time amongst the flock and flock of people who go away and return eventually that actually mattered. you know stories that could change a person's outlook on things. stories that make you wanna go ahead and make your own stories. for they were filled with lonesome travels among strangers through little corners of perishing lands. a true rupture in the ordinary way of things.
then life caught up with me. to dream is tricky business, you should be very careful. the masks we put on each day ultimately begin to deceive us ourselves more than anything else. we believe in the possibilities of different lives of different people of different adventures. truth is i have a broken wing. i always had a broken wing. one of my teachers once said "not every problem can be solved. that's why you should learn how to contain them" and that's what life truely is--a large sequence of containment and maintenance of true troubles so that they don't hinder the daily doings. it sounds fake now, and childish. but i wish i could truly explain the pain in my chest. the wise silent misery that i show to no one that resides right here quite threateningly. of all the things i learnt to contain, that i learnt to protect. for the things you love is not at all what you aim to protect in life it is your pain you hold on dearly to. you don't want others to see it.
you make postcards out of beautiful scenery. that is all there is. you forget once in a while, you go out, you taste and drink and you fall (or pretend to fall) in love. then life comes around, and you remember all the containment, all the maintenance, and the child inside you frowns. but then you have to put your hand on his/her shoulder and sigh and sigh wisely and explain him/her that it will not change any time soon.
scratch all i said about the warmth. with a dear friend of mine i had a lovely day yesterday--walked up and down and enjoyed roasted chestnuts and hot chocolate and cigarettes. it's nice to hang out with people once in a while who knows what you mean when you say 'it was a library book' trying to explain why you couldn't read ulysses. it was nice to walk out and about without feeling cold after some dark dreary weather.
the warmth really gets on my nerves. i can't open the doors or the windows--there's a nasty air outside--the general poison of a living metropolitan city. it's funny when you think about it. such a huge city and i can not come up with anything to be. if the warm weather keeps up tomorrow... anywho i'll have coffee with a friend tomorrow, then back possibly. avoiding the simplest act of choosing courses. thinking tonight again that i may have walked down a slightly wrong path. in the long run that great song says there's still time to change the road you're on. but who knows. i can't even play the guitar.
so have tickets for both lennonyc and william burroughs: the man within. i even went ahead and downloaded some blind willie mctells, i'd say it was about time i did so. have a wonderful golden cup of coffee (oh that sad addiction of cream). read a bit of ezra on my way home--his biography too--appearantly he was nicknamed 'ra' which i think fits him perfectly.
so it's all good now--i just have to work out the timing for my tudoring for this week.
sadly i found out that gary moore had passed away very recently. though i didn't know much about him, i knew his work through thin lizzy. i had even seen him do a few solo performances of old lizzy songs. so there's really not much to say, i take it, besides a heartfelt 'rest in peace'.
ok burroughs one is done and sealed--i have great company too--but lennon was is still waiting around cause people just take forever to decide. i get nervous and imptient. hope the tickets don't run out, too. anywho some simon&garfunkel to ease my mind.
i just found two wonderful movies that i would absolutely love to see in the independent movie festival thingy of this year. one's about lennon, the other burroughs. the only trouble is that i have to sort out my company. i have this way of getting dangerously impatient dealing with these kinda things, i just wanna buy the tickets and be done and be happy with it. sadly not everyone decides as clear cut as i do.
kids are the most wonderful strange adorable happenings of the world. there's something magnetic about a baby--you just sit there and watch them do (or try to do for that matter) everything you yourself do--only on a tinier scale. you see them grow--the same head on the everchanging body--and everything is such a quest. their stare is just hypnotising. they're like cats a bit, you forget yourself entirely and focus on their little moving bodies.
a friend of mine once said to me that you can't find a whole lot to talk about when you stay at home. i think you need to strike a proper balance--i'm still a bit tired of last week (and the week before that for that matter#2) but i had a half day off today, and i twisted plans properly so that i had the whole day off tomorrow. then monday i have a little something going on--including the return of a dear dear friend of mine who had been stuck in the cold streets of germany--and on tuesday another dear soul i hope to see--one who returned recently from france. these things go a little bitterly at times (all the stories you hear make you wanna just take off) but mostly they are wonderful--there's nothing like getting back together with familiar souls who had been on unfamiliar voyages. they always have something to contribute to your own stories, something to add. i like listening to stories. i like telling them more, but to tell the proper ones, you need to make sure you listen to others as much as you can.
then i've been lost in my remaining thoughts all day. the way feelings change, it's a funny thing. between friends, between lovers, between everyone. lives clash continuingly. i just love that freshness of a newly found love (towards anyone, friends, family, foes). that freshness of which you don't expect, but you cherish anything that comes because you don't expect. afterwards you always expect, or worse very clearly not expect.
my childhood friend (who had been there for all these years in which i skipped from one dream to the other)read a few of my stories lately. she told me that i had this tendency to put something at the end that proves it's the end. you know, she said, you already understand, but i put this fancy little saying at the end to do the proper thing. i kinda smiled, my rituals and my constant desire to make everything grand--my conclusions has to be drastic as the wonderful zimerman says, my love has to be overlydone and my riots need to be precise.
i really don't have a whole lot to say but i feel like talking tonight. but i think i talked enough. enjoy:
slept till noon today and feel slightly more well rested.
anywho have stuff to do as always, have a family meeting to attend to later tonight. i took care of some more academic to-do list earlier, even had time to stroll around the wonderful world of youtube. now it's time get cozy with anton for a little while at least.
big brother finally graduated yesterday so everyone around the house is slightly more cheerful now.
as for the video--i'm riding out the last waves of the james walsh days. there you go, i think it's most preciously beautiful--
so i again have a long long day ahead. next week i am so locking myself up in this house and sleeping 23 hours a day. before taking my leave-- 1)the white stripes officially broke up. truely sad. but you know, that much talent and wonderfullness will pop up somewhere else eventually. found this now that all the white stripes news are coming up and down--borderline perfect.
2)saw the news yesterday of jesse being included in the official keane line up. yay. there you go:
for starters, the whole thing last night was wonderful. i had a lovely dinner with 2 of my dearest friends, spoke of future and connections and putin (of all) and even of my 'fanaticisms'. i split a little after 10, and did something quite unique and weird for myself--i went ahead on my own to the venue--which is practically a bar and a large room--and just hung out on my own for a little while-listening to this girl on the stage. she was allright you know, nohting too brilliant, a bit too establishment-defined-alternative for my taste. she did actually seem like a nice person though, for what it's worth.
it's wonderful to listen to live music--almost unrelated to what you are in fact listening to. i just stood there, tapping the floor slowly with my foot, enjoying the whole thing.
then two of my lovely friends came over. now being my london companions, i do feel like we share a higher bond when it comes to music (higher than with anyone else, at least). anyways--soon the girl took her leave and the bizarre wonderful james walsh waltzed in.
there's nothing like a regularly not regular looking musician. he came in wearing an ordinary shirt, you know, doing ordinary things. but there's this air to these kinda people, this difference in attitude even when they put one foot in front of the other. not to mention when he opens up that mouth of his the most aching sound just comes out. there's something extremely troubling in the tone of his voice--something slightly dark and dreary, something misarable, something choosing to stay distant. and he has this little hooked nose that makes you wonder how the hell such a sound strong voice can come out of him. it just adds up to his mystery, his air of magic. and he kinda weirdly has an air of magic. not a warm sweet flowing bright colored magic--more of a poetic nature. he opened the show with a wonderful performance of tell me it's not over--luckily too, it was one of the three songs i knew prior to my sudden decision to go see the man.
it was already good enough when he decidede to throw in a little lennon--oh how i shouldda wished for something else, you know--it just turned me on for the night. he does a great cover, hands down. like i said, lennnon is not an easy one to cover, but walsh does him justice. i think he has that trouble-arrogant-misery mixture slightly similar to lennon. especially that slightly dark, slightly miserable, slightly stubborn feel that jealous guy has to it, walsh was more than brilliant in delivering it.
then i went crazy and snatched the setlist from the floor of the stage--i hereby declare setlists to be the most wonderful souvenier of a live show--then even more strangely i began to crave for a autograph. anwyho we waited a little outside and james walked out, we had him sign stuff (including my setlist--with an eye pencil too, since i had no pen). it was kinda funny too, to think about it. but there is that atmosphere of a live show that makes you do strange things. i checked out the venue right before we stepped out--the lights were on and people were picking up cables and crap, james was doing last minute rounds of signing stuff and i thought to myself (upon being asked by a great friend that evening 'what do you want to do?') that that was what i wanted to do. yeap, dear old crazy me. 4 years of heavy ass politics and i look with envy at the boy who carries in the mics.
he didn't play hurts too much but i was too pleasantly joyful to be bummed out about that. besides he has this smile that makes you think that a man who smiles like that can not be dangerous to anyone--i mean i'm sure he has broken a few hearts and has does a few hurtful things, but you don't expect them (the beautifully smiling) kind to be downright mean and vicious and cruel. i'm not saying that in a cheesy 'oh he is so sweet' kinda way. i just, you know-- something's are much simpler and exist on their own. a smile is one of those things.
anywhoo-these are the stuff that comes to my mind first when i think of last night. overall the whole thing was a thing of beauty. good music, a wonderful strange voice, good company, that 'bright midnight' feel of a live show. i'm glad i didn't miss it. i'm thankful for those who tagged along, and genuinely sorry for those who passed.
i've been doing myself a favor and running through some james walsh performances before i went to see the man tomorrow night--i do have to say he has this haunting strange voice that literally 'works down your spine'. i just saw him do a cover of jealous guy and take my word for it, lennon is not an easy one to cover--but walsh was pretty decent. he does have something threatening in his manners though--and in his way of singing. but a good inspirational musical kinda threatening. oh why do you make me explain these things? hear it out on your own.
i'll get back to you possibly thursday afternoon. will let you know how the whole thing went down.
it was a beautiful one too. the air was crisp and at times unpleasant--but i looked up instinctively in the morning while struggling to put on my clothes and there i saw the lawless snowflakes--such an amazing sight every year. they had to run some blood tests on mother so we took care of that early in the morning. then something even more wonderful than the snowflakes happened--but the wonderfullness of each was kinda mutually constitutive--we took the train on the way back. now i don't mean the subway or those unpleasantly fast trains that you don't even see where you're going--i mean the old fashioned beautiful wooden seats little stations benches under the snow large colorful writings on the grey walls and tracks miles and miles of train tracks with flowers and dead plants winding up and down.
i'm a land travel kind of person. i cherish those moments stuck in traffic the most--as long as i am seated and have my tunes in my ear. there is something liberating about being on the road--something entirely unattached and drifting--something that allows you to exist entirely to exist. add good (great) music to that and i feed of off the roads. people ask how. i can not seem to tell them that that couple of hours spent on the road are mostly genuinely the greatest hours of my life. anywho--that inspiration i usually find on the bus rides--but i get it now--i get trains now, their beauty, their rootfullness, their poetic nature. i've done so much over the last week or so, but that little train ride for i say 15 minutes was the highlight of my past couple of days. i just didn't feel like getting off ever.
it's not just the trains too. the tracks and the worn out railways and the walls filled with writings and pictures. it feels real. it feels as if others have been there before you. not like the sideways or the cement walls by the highways. it has this--we have a word in turkish that goes as yasanmislik which means--letssee--it means a noun version of 'having lived' or 'containing life lived'--that really sucked as a translation but try to work with it. that's what the railways have a certan amount of yasanmislik.
then i went down and got my walsh ticket. paid a lot more than planned (as usual, i guess i have bad karma on this) still, i say music and books are the only things in this world that deserve proper spending.
so its about 2 in the afternoon now but i'm restfully tired. i had a couple of cups of tea and a huge breakfast--i'll probably get some sleep. tomorrow's a big day. i love you all. enjoy the snow.
